Victimized
by Majokai Yukiko
Summary: UPDATED! Chapter 6 up! AngelSpike slash. Spoilers up to Season 5. William finally saw for himself, the biggest betrayal his sire had ever done to him. Even greater than when he got his soul and left. This time...he just left...
1. Chapter One

**Victimized | Chapter One**

**A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William**

**Warning: Slash. Blood play.**

**Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season 5: Damage.**

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Joss Whedon, WB, and their associates. **

---

_"She was an innocent victim."_

_"So were we, once upon a time."_

It was a joke.  It must be one.  Almost a century ago, Angel thought he never would feel something other than anger, guilt, and disgust towards his youngest childe.  But time had proven him wrong. First was Pavayne.  His demon snarled when it saw the man who cheated hell time and again, threatening his childe right in his face. Inside him, Angelus roared, rattling at his cage.  This was my childe, the demon yelled.  How dare you harm him!  Threatening to do so in front of me, no less! 

It felt good, when he shut the gate on the man's face, the gate of eternal hell, knowing that his childe was safe from the claws of torture he himself had suffered under for five hundred years. 

Then came the day when the mysterious box came in the mail for Spike.  Angel had no idea what he wanted to do most.  To beat his childe black and blue for wanting to leave for Europe, for Buffy, the minute he became corporeal.  Or to hug him close to himself and never let go. 

Angel thought he had gone through all the emotions he could ever go through, when he woke up from his nefarious nightmare and saw William pull the demon off him, a slight smile on his handsome face.  Until he realized finally, what he really felt for his childe, and still felt.

Love. 

How strange, that it took him a psychotic slayer, a pair of lost hands and a quiet, civil chat in a hospital room late at night to realize that. 

Just as Angelus had loved and hated William in his own demonic way, Angel loves and hates Spike the way he never could before. 

What had Spike mean when he said they were innocent victims once upon a time?  Or more exactly, why did Angel feel like staking himself when he heard that?

***

**A Small English village, 1865**

"What are you looking for, Will?"  The little boy turned away from the window, and smiled at the old woman who had entered the room.  He loved his grandmother more than he loved himself.  He loved the countryside he lived in.  But most of all, he loved looking at the clear blue sky where there was not a single cloud in the sky. The endless blue made him think of heaven somehow.  Although his grandmother always said his eyes reminded her of the sky, he never really believed her.  How could anyone be compared to heaven and its beautiful angels?

William gave his grandmother a hug when she sat on his bed next to him, closing his eyes when he felt her kiss the top of his head, longish blond hair falling over his eyes. 

"Angels!  Grandmamma, do you think they exist?"  The kindly old lady stroked her grandson's hair tenderly, smiling benignly at the boy's innocence. 

"Of course they do.  They are messengers of God."  The child grinned, a dreamy expression filling his baby blue eyes.  Though he paid attention at the village's Sunday school, he never really thought about the Almighty.  It seemed rather ridiculous, somehow, that a being should hold absolute power over all men.  Although that left his faith in angels on rather shaky ground, he did not care. 

"Is Daddy with them?"  The six-year old asked the elderly woman.  He had never seen his father before.  The villagers said he was dead.  The village priest told him his father had found eternal peace with the angels.  _How lucky he was!_ William thought.  He wanted to see angels too!

She was right.  Just when he had stopped believing in angels, six years after his grandmother died, and the mother he had never heard from appeared and hitched him to London, he finally found one.  That angel was not like the way his elders had described these beings to be.  He did not have blond hair, blue eyes, wings, halo, or even wear white.  _His Angel was no messenger of God. _

_He was God._

_His father was not with the angels either. _

_His Angel was his father, his sire, and his God._

_His everything.  _****

***

Spike sat at the edge of the rooftop of an old abandoned building, taking in a deep breath of nicotine from his cigarette.  It hurt… nobody told him it would hurt this much, or perhaps they did, and it was just that he had never listened.****

The blond vampire had half contemplated staying out there in the open until morning came; letting the LA sun reduce him into the dust he should have been long ago, if not for the demon that reanimated his corpse. 

Empty: that was how he was feeling.  Was that how Dana felt too?  Like her, he had nobody to turn to, nobody who wanted him, nobody who understood what he was going through and nobody to tell him what else he have to go through.  They were more alike than they thought, it seemed.  Perhaps he should just end it all. 

_"__Keep cutting until you see dust__."_

It seemed familiar, this resignation, and this willingness to give in to his immortal death.  Spike thought there was something he ought to remember.  He frowned and tried his best to recall. 

Apparently not. 

Spike shrugged, reaching into his pockets to take out a plastic vial with many small white pills in it, a souvenir from his recent visit to the hospital. 

_"Piece by piece yellow makes you weak.  Brown makes you sleepy."_

_"Let's see what blue does, shall we?" _

Ten of these would knock a human out for forty-eight hours straight.  The vampire smiled.  He did not even need that long.  With one gulp, he swallowed all the pills dry, not bothering to count how many there were. 

Spreading his arms out in a parody of Christ on the cross, he lay back against the cold floor and watched the stars slowly drift out of sight.  Out of mind. 

Blue…like the skies…like heaven. 

_"Daddy's gone.  He can't hear you."_

"That's where you are wrong, hammer sack. He never heard me."  Spike smiled sardonically to himself and closed his eyes, shutting out the eternal blue.

***

**London****, 1882**

Angelus stared across the room at the unconscious vampire in his bed.  William never looked more human than when he was asleep, long fringe falling over closed eyes, lips slightly parted as the fledglingbreathed in and out, yet to be able to kick the nasty human habit. 

The burns were beginning to heal, albeit at a rather slow speed for a vampire.  Angelus sighed and leant back further into his chair. 

_William felt his heart slow as the demon blood was being fed into him.  Drop by drop as he drank, he saw bits of his soul being chipped away.  Instinctively, he knew what was happening to him, but he could not stop it.  He did not want to stop it.  The Englishman took a deep breath with his dying heart and looked up, smiling sweetly at the angelic visage that was holding him in his arms.  He saw his murderer in a whole new light. And in that moment, as he exhaled and his heart beat its last, he chained a shred of humanity to his newborn demon out of desperation.  He had found it and he was not letting it go. _

_He had fallen in love. _

_Angelus sat there quietly in the barn, the dead and limp body of his newly made childe sprawled over his lap.  Unlike his other victims, the Irish vampire could not understand what had sparked off his obsession for the English poet.  Sure, the boy was beautiful, but his beauty was only skin deep.  He was timid, painfully romantic, and terribly naïve at the same time.  Angelus wondered what attractions he had found in William J Bradford.  Truth be told, he, the Scourge of Europe, was a little afraid by what had just occurred. _

_He could have killed William for just a taste of that sweet betrayal on the boy's face at his final death, and he might have sired him only to see how a sniveling man like him would survive as a demon.  That was familiar.  That was explainable.  What was not was the look of complete love and adoration William had given him with his last mortal breath and the flutter in Angelus' non-beating heart when he saw it. _

_Angelus shook his head.  An unfamiliar emotion akin to guilt invaded his mind.  Gently, he pushed the cold body onto the hay and left before daybreak, taking one last look at the sweet poet whom he had marked for eternity. _

_Things could get even more complicated from now on. _

***

Déjà vu

Angel spent the past two days sitting in his chair, across the room from his bed, watching his childe sleep, just like the way he had done that fateful day back in 1882.

Spike was never a quiet sleeper. He would kick, he would growl and sometimes, and when the nightmares got particularly bad, he would scream.  But this was new. And it was scary. Angel had never seen the blonde vampire whimper fearfully or cry. Spike was doing all of that now.  His no longer painted fingers clutched tightly at the sheets, trembling, while the tears flowed endlessly from eyes he knew to be of a gorgeous blue. Finally, not being able to take it anymore, he pushed himself off the chair and moved to sit down on the bed, beside Spike instead.  He reached out his hand, wanting to wipe the tears away when eyelids slowly fluttered open. 

The blonde vampire frowned and edged away suspiciously.  Angel felt his bones run hollow when he realized what was missing from Spike's eyes. 

Recognition. 

"Who are you?"  Spike asked.  No, Angel mentally corrected.  This was not Spike that had just asked him who he was with an uneasy tremor in his voice. 

"I'm Angel, your sire."

"No, you are not," the younger vampire scurried off the bed and pressed himself as close as possible to the opposite wall. 

"My Sire is Angelus, Scourge of Europe, you dork!"

This was Spike…

"Now where the bloody hell am I—?" 

When he was still William…

"—and my sister Dru?!"

Before Angelus made the mistake of letting Drusilla 'sire' him. 

+++

**End of Chapter One**

**Continue to Chapter Two**


	2. Chapter Two

**Victimized | Chapter Two**

**A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William**

**Warning: Slash.  Blood play.**

**Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season 5: Damage.**

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Joss Whedon, WB, and their associates. **

---

"I don't care who's going to get involved or how you are going to do it," Angel yelled.  "Just find out what the fuck Spike swallowed before we found him, Wes!"  Without waiting for a reply, Angel slammed the handset back down, took a couple of deep breaths and counted to ten. 

"For one that's not Angelus, you sure are doing a good impression of my Sire." 

Angel turned around and glared at the vampire behind him, sitting comfortably in his office chair and resting his boot covered feet on the perfectly lacquered desk.  The vampire who was Spike raised an eyebrow at the expression on Angel's face and then gingerly removed his feet. 

"So," he started, with the nonchalant tone he had hopefully managed to achieve. "Mind explaining to me what time has I found myself in, mate?  Angelus' gonna have my hide if I don't return soon."

"How many times must I tell you this, Spike?  Angelus does not exist anymore." 

"Well," Spike shrugged, examining his nails attentively.  "Keeping saying it until I believe you, pet.  Which will be never, if I have something to say about it."  He paused for a moment, finding a way to phrase his words properly, and then continued. 

"Angelus and I…we are connected by blood, mate.  The blood does not lie." 

Angel stopped his pacing, shock evident in his eyes. 

"What did you just say?  The link…the link's not broken?" 

"Hell, why would it be?"  Spike pushed himself angrily off the chair, and stormed out of the room, muttering disconnected words under his breath that made perfect sense to Angel. 

_"You were my sire, man!  You were my Yoda!"_

_His jaw ached from Spike's blow, but somewhere deep inside where his heart ought to be, it hurt more. _

_Sire; the word had fallen so naturally and easily from his boy's lips.  Angel closed his eyes briefly in pain, silently lamenting how Spike had never used that word on him before, how he could not, all thanks for Angelus' stupidity. _

It had occurred, at some point in time, to Angel that there was something wrong Spike's response then.  Spike would never call him 'Sire'. 

He had no reason to. 

***

London 1882

The sunrise was in an hour's time.  It was strange how numb his dead senses could be to some things and how sensitive it was to others.  Ever since he was reborn as a vampire, William could no longer smell the sweet aroma of homemade cookies, or taste the sweetness of strawberry jam.  In their stead was the deafening pounding of hearts beating, the all encompassing need for that warm enticing human blood calling to the demon within, and of course, the prickling of his dead skin as the sun rises and sets each day. 

William sat at the open window, a cheap cigar between his fingers, slowly burning down into a long cylindrical column of ash.  In his lap were small pieces of paper with ink stains on them.  He remembered that sheet of paper and he remembered why it was in pieces. 

"I'm still beneath you, Cecily, even after so long."

"What are you doing there, Will?"  William turned, smiling a little when he saw his sire walk into the drawing room where he was.  Angelus stopped, folded his arms over his chest, and leant against the wooden doorframe.  "Sunrise's in an hour, boy."

"I know," William answered simply.  His skin was already beginning to hurt, so tender the skin of a fledging was.  As the way it was for his heart.  He only wished being dead had given him a one-way ticket away from ever being hurt again.  But unfortunately for him, it didn't. 

He turned away from his sire and looked out of the window once more.  "I always know.  You taught me well, sire." 

"Are you mocking me, childe?"  Angelus growled, a hint of anger in his voice, even though his stance seemed as relaxed as before. 

"No, I'm not.  I never will."  He faced his sire again. 

The two men waited; one from the door, the other at the window, both looking at each other yet not seeing each other.  Finally, Angelus took a worried look at the lightening sky outside.  William followed his gaze and shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the sizzling noise, as the sunlight grew stronger. 

"Stop it, stop it, _stop it_—what's wrong with you?" 

"Me?"  William arched a pale eyebrow, remembering when he had said the exact same words to another lady from a different lifetime. "I just want you to see me." 

_"That's the problem, William.  I do see you.  You are beneath me."_

The young vampire held his non-existent breath and waited, praying to a god he didn't believe in that he would not hear the same reply again. Not this time.  No. 

"That's the problem, Will." 

God…no…

"I do see you."  This cannot be…!

"In fact, it was too much.  More than I should."  This time, it was Angelus' turn to look away when his childe stared at him in shock.  He shifted his feet uncomfortably, consciously reminding himself that this was his two year old fledging and he definitely should not be so affected by the boy.

That was where his dilemma lies, wasn't it? He knew the boy could affect him, sway the emotions he thought had died with him long ago.  He knew it was dangerous.  He also knew there was nothing much he could do about it. 

William opened his mouth to speak, but a scream came out instead. The sun had chosen that moment to move from its hiding place behind a convenient cloud and shine bright and happy over the English land. 

Angelus never thought he could move so fast.  He crossed the distance between him and his childe in split seconds, pulling his childe to the carpeted ground with him as he drew the curtains shut with his other hand.  The dead skin sizzled as it made contact with the sunlight.  The sickening smell of burning flesh hung heavily in the room.  Ignoring the pain in his own hand, Angelus carefully examined his injured childe. 

The young vampire was unconscious, but it was not sure if he was knocked out cold from his sudden and not too gentle contact with the floor or if it was due to the pain.  Half of his face was almost black, the tips of his hair crumpled into gray ash when Angelus touched them gently.  Angelus stared at the small piles of ashes in shock, his irises ringed with a hint of gold. 

This… this dust could be his childe. 

The most impossible thing had happened.  William the Bloody, childe of Angelus the Scourge of Europe, blood of the Order of Aurelius could love.  Not only could he love, his love was total, all consuming and destructive.  Angelus suddenly realized that although he demanded complete respect and obedience from all his childer, he never realized how painful and dangerous it was for any one of them to love him in that same way. 

Angelus was afraid. 

He was afraid of what this love could do to him, and to William.  Would he grow weak, knowing that his childe adored him like a God?  How long would it be before William killed himself, due to his unrequited love for his sire?  Angelus was a demon; he could never love William enough like a lover would. 

He had to do something.  Before this foolish affection could kill them all. 

"Drusilla," He called out.  "Come now, IMMEDIATELY!"

***

Spike only allowed his confusion to show on his face after he left the office.  That strange vampire in there, he said his name was Angel.  He said he was his sire. 

The blonde vampire felt at his face lightly, running his fingers over the scar over his left brow, and the short gelled peroxide hair.  He knew he was not William.  He did not feel anything like William.  Power was coursing through his veins like a drug.  He brought his hand before him, flexing it into a fist and then relaxed again. 

A quick glance at the papers lying on Angel's desk just now had informed him that the year was 2003.  He had lost 121 years of memories.  What had happened to him?  Who was he now in this strange century?  Bloody Hell, it's a totally different millennium altogether even!

Most importantly who was this Angel? Spike felt his blood sing when he saw the vampire.  Every cell in him told him that Angel was his sire, just like what the vampire said.  Every part of him except for his heart anyway. He did not want to admit that this vampire he knew nothing about was Angelus. The blood link between sire and childe was still there.  Spike had not lied when he said that. 

But the link was so weak that it made him want to crawl to the darkest corner of the building and hide there, sobbing quietly into his arms. If this Angel was indeed Angelus as he had said, how could the link be so weak even when he was standing so close to the vampire?

Spike closed his eyes, clinging on desperately to the almost negligible tingling at the edge of his mind where he knew the bond was.  _Where are you, sire?_  He pleaded silently. 

"Blondie bear?"  His eyes snapped open in anger and irritation at the girl who interrupted him.  He turned his head, glaring at the blonde receptionist. 

"What?"  He snarled.  She drew back with her eyes wide. 

"I…I heard from Bossy that you are not feeling well.  Just want to know if you are okay…well, I guess, you look…great," she shrugged. 

Spike raised an eyebrow and then walked away, humming a ditty under his breath and made up his mind to distract himself a little by exploring his new surroundings. 

"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising…"

He did not notice the green demon that had just stopped walking, spun around and stared at him with barely concealed fear in his dark red eyes. 

Lorne ignored the files and the phone he had just dropped on the floor.  He could have been talking to Johnny Depp on the phone then, but he did not care. There was something more important he had to do. 

"Hi Harm-cakes, is Angel in?" The ex-Cordette nodded earnestly.  Lorne forced a smile. 

Angel was not going to like this news. 

+++

End of Chapter Two

Continue to Chapter Three


	3. Chapter Three

**Victimized | Chapter Three**

**A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/ Angel the Series Fanfiction**

**Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William**

**Warning: Slash. Blood play**

**Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season Five: Damage**

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe the rights of Joss Whedon, WB and their associates. **

---

Angel sighed and let Spike storm angrily out of the room. He went back to his seat that had just been vacated by the younger vampire, and sat down.  He rested his hands on the flat lacquered surface of his desk. After a moment,Angel finally let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding and leant back against his office chair. 

His eyes found their attention drawnto his top drawer.  Then, as if possessed, he reached out and tugged at the handle.  Under all the drawing paper, pencils and charcoal lying around the drawer was a leather-bound book. William had bound it for him more than a century ago, when he was still human, after he knew of his friend's interest in sketching. 

_"Will," Angelus walked into the study where the young man was.  William looked up from what he was doing at the desk, pushed his glasses up, and offered the Irish man a shy smile. _

_They were in Angelus' mansion in London.  Angelus had invited his young poet 'friend' for a visit.  The Englishman had turned several shades of red when Drusilla _had****_cooed over him affectionately.  The vampire had nearly laughed _aloud_ when he saw how William bowed to Darla and Drusilla shakily, and then took his glasses off his face and wiped at the lenses with his coat._

_It was as if he could never get enough for William's shyness. _

_"I'm not so sure I like that grin, 'Gelus," William shook his head and went back to whatever he was doing before he was interrupted. _

_"What are you doing?" Angelus walked up and pulled a seat opposite of the otherman.  The desk was cluttered with glue__，__strings and many of his drawing papers. _

_"I noticed that you like to sketch," William explained as he gathered the papers into a pile and meticulously applied the white paste onto one side of the pile. After he was done, he slowly and carefully wound the string across the glued side tightly. "So I'm making you a sketch book." _

_The young librarian applied another layer of glue over the now string-covered side and then pressed it firmly against the spine of the leather book cover he had prepared earlier. Finally satisfied with his work, he smiled and handed it over to Angelus. _

_"Merry Christmas, Liam Angelus Connaleigh." _

Angel ran his fingers over the leather nostalgically. William, despite his poor family background, had made his gift out of the best leather. His efforts had paid off, the book lasted. Angel was still using it even up till today. It was not as if he had seldom sketched. However， Angel had made sure this handmade book only heldhis sketches of William J Bradford, William the Bloody, and Spike. 

"Come in," he pushed the book aside when he heard the knock.  Lorne walked into with a grave expression on his face. 

"What's wrong?" Angel asked immediately, dreading what his friend had to tell him. 

"It's Spike.  I read him.  He…" Lorne sat down heavily on the couch in the office, massaging the bridge of his nose, as if to prevent the coming of a major headache.  "He has no future."

"WHAT?" Angel's hands tightened around the edge of his desk.  Cracks began to form on the wooden surface.  He took a deep breath, tried to calm down and asked again.  "What do you mean Spike has no future?"

Lorne laid his head back on the cushioned seat and closed his eyes.  "I see no future for him." 

"Does... does that mean he's going to die?" Angel thought he sounded calmer than he really was. 

"No, it's not that," Lorne frowned, thinking about how he was going to explain this to the vampire.  "For those who are about to die, I usually will see their death.  But that's not the same for Spike.  I didn't see him get dusted or anything. All I saw was him lying alone in a room filled with bright white light.  That's all.  No past, no future." 

"What does that mean?" 

The demon shook his head.  He did not know either.  He only knew thatthis was not good.

"Where's Blondie anyway?" Lorne looked around.  Angel shrugged and kept his eyes on the black leather book on his desk. 

What was he going to do now?"

***

**London****, 1882**

"Drusilla," Angelus called out.  "Come now, IMMEDIATELY!"

There was a gasp from the room upstairs and soon the dark haired girl ran into the room, glee in her fathomless eyes. 

"It's time, isn't it, my Angel?"  She asked excitedly.  "It's time to make William mine."  She kneeled down beside William's prone body, placing her hands gently on the handsome face. 

Angelus frowned at his insane childe.  It was not as if she made no sense.  Once in a while, she would make a crazy but plausible suggestion.  Like now. 

It would solve all their problems.  If it was Drusilla instead of him who had sired William instead, perhaps he would not have been so fixated on Angelus, loved him so completely and dangerously.

Drusilla nuzzled her face into the crook of Will's neck, purring slightly.  Then, she lifted her head and smiled sweetly at her sire, "May I?" 

What choice did he have?  Angelus thought.  He nodded. 

Drusilla's smile grew wider.  Quietly she whispered into William's perfect little seashell ear.  Angelus got up and walked to the darkest corner of the room, where he knew he could see everything that happened in the room, but where Will's young vampire eyes would not be able to see him. 

"Forget it all," she whispered, using her mesmerizing skills on the unconscious vampire.  A frown furrowed William's brow as he tried to fight against the mental invasion.  But in his current weakened state, it was almost impossible.  "Forget this pain, this heartache."  Patiently, she wove into his mind a different story of his turning. A story where it was Drusilla, instead of Angelus, who had found him crying in the barn, who had bitten him, who had stolen him from the mortals, and who had made him her knight. ****

Then finally, she abandoned her human mask and went straight for the jugular, covering Angelus' mark with her own. 

Bright blue eyes snapped open at the pain, a voiceless scream from his throat.  From the other side of the room, Angelus thought for a moment that the boy had seen him.  Tears began to well up in William's hurt filled eyes, and then finally he closed his eyes, letting a single tear to flow down his face. 

Angelus' eyes followed the tear's track and when it reached William's lips, the boy muttered 'sire' under his breath.  This time, Angelus knew the word was not meant for him. 

***

"Hey, Spike!  Are you looking for Fred?  She's not around."  The vampire looked up to see a man in the upstairs room, dressed in a blue shirt and a white long coat, smiling down at him.  Spike grinned back and glanced casually at his surroundings. There was no one else in the room.

It looked like a hospital to him.  The lights were bright, with many metallic equipments lying all over the place.  Spike shuddered.  He had seen something like that before.  But he could not remember where. 

_"The implant works.  Hostile 17 can't harm any living creature in any way, without intense neurological pain.  We'll bag it."_

"Spike, you okay?"  Knox put a hand on the vampire's shoulder.  With a shiver of fear that suddenly ran down his spine, Spike struck out instinctively, sending the lab assistant crashing into a table. 

The smell of blood hit Spike like the sight of an oasis to a dying man.  With slow deliberation, he allowed his demon visage to be brought forth.  He remembered it now.  The many whippings Angelus had given him.  How Angelus had thrown him out of the house when William refused to hunt, refused to give up the humanity in him, and had only allowed him back with open arms and a proud kiss to the forehead when William the Bloody returned home, stinking with the stench of his victims' blood drying off his skin and hair. 

A blood bath was exactly what he needed to bring his sire back to him. 

Spike's hands began to shake when he smelled the fear emitting from the human, aching for the reassuring weight of his favorite railway spike.  He hated to do this, especially without the weapon. 

But he had to, even if it meant using just his bare hands, even it meant that he had to kill an innocent human with the same hands he used to write poetry with. 

This was for Angelus. 

"Are you afraid?  Don't.  It won't hurt."  The blonde vampire grinned and strode up to the man.  He squatted down in front of Knox, put a hand on one of kneecaps and squeezed tightly, crushing the bones under his powerful grasp. 

"Who am I kidding?" Spike chuckled.  And then he sobered. 

"It will hurt," he whispered, speaking more to himself than to Knox, "a lot." 

***

Fred entered the upstairs room of her lab, a frown on her face.  Wesley had told her about Spike's amnesia.  It was strange.  The sedatives Spike had taken should not have that effect, unless there were some components in it that they did not know about. 

She took out a scrunchie from her pocket and tied her hair into a loose ponytail.  She laid a sample of the pills on the table and went on to put on her lab coat.  She looked around the room.  Where was her lab coat?  She bit on her lower lip and thought. 

Finally, she shrugged and opened the window to shout for Knox downstairs.  Perhaps he would know where she left her coat.  

"Knox?"  Fred searched the laboratory with her eyes, all the while wondering where the man would be.  He had never skived off work before.  But when she eventually found who she was searching for, she screamed. 

At the far corner where eyes could easily miss, was the battered body of the lab assistant, his head twisted in an unnatural angle.  His light blue shirt was drenched completely in dark red blood.  His eyes were wide with fear, his mouth parted in his final scream for help. 

On the wall beside him, two words were written loudly in drying blood, eerily stylish in its Victorian script. 

'For Angelus'.

+++

**End of Chapter Three**

**Continue to Chapter Four**


	4. Chapter Four

**Victimized | Chapter Four**

**A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/ Angel the Series Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William**

**Warning: Slash. Blood play.**

**Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season 5: Damage.**

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Joss Whedon, WB, and their associates. **

---

"You really did it," Eve breathed a sigh of awe and admiration.  The man in her bed beckoned at her.  With a coy smile, she quickly stripped herself of her clothing and slipped under the covers with him, peppering his broad chest with heated kisses. 

Lindsey allowed her to do as she wanted, watching the way her long blonde hair fell wantonly over her shoulders as he thought of a different time when he held another small blonde girl in his arms.  His dear one. 

His strong long fingers weaved themselves in her hair and yanked her head back to face him.  It was strange how two archrivals could have the same taste in bed partners. Perhaps that was the reason why they had became archenemies in the first place. 

Flipping their positions so that he was on top of her, Lindsey roughly pressed her wrists against the soft mattress and ravaged her mouth mercilessly.  He kept his eyes fixed on the photo on his bedside table; a photo of another short blond that would soon be another major player in his game.  

_Let's see how fragile souls can be, shall we Angel? _

***

"How did this happen?"  Wesley looked up at Angel who had just walked down the corridor.  Sitting opposite him, Fred was crying, her eyes already red and swollen with tears, and her hands shaking uncontrollably in her lap.  Patting her shoulder lightly, Wesley stood up and gestured for Angel to walk into the lab with him. 

The room was streaming with medics and cleaners.  Angel stared when Knox's dead tortured body was carried past.  The lab assistant's eyes were wide open, even in death, his lips parted slightly in a silent scream.  Angel stopped the medics and stood by the dead body.  Without a word, he gently nudged the dead lids close, and waved the medics away.

His face was contorted with guilt and confusion.  Another human under his charge dead and he did not even have the chance this time to even attempt saving himsaving him. 

"Who did it?"  He asked hoarsely.  Wesley only pointed to the far end of the room with a raised eyebrow. 

For the first time in his two hundred and fifty years of undead existence, Angel had the unpleasant feeling of somebody walking over his grave. 

"For Angelus."

Angel had no idea what he was to think about this.  Should he take it as an offering from his wayward childe, or should he consider it a challenge?  Finally, shoulders slumped; he slowly made his way back to his office.  Nobody followed him, and he was glad for that. 

Eve was in his office when he returned, sitting comfortably on the couch that they fucked behind at the last office party. 

"That's it?"  She asked and frowned.  "You are just going to let him off?  He just killed Knox."  She placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed her cell phone into his palm.  At such close proximity, she smelled strangely familiar, something he knew but had forgotten.  Just as he frowned, in the attempt to identify the smell, her soft deceptive voice interrupted him. 

"You are a champion, Angel," she whispered, "You have to do this," and pressed the phone harder against him.  Angel stared at the small device as Eve's words resonated in his brain.  Shakily, he dialed a familiar number. 

"Wes?  Get a crack team on this."  He closed his eye resignedly.  "I want him found."  There was no question who the 'he' was referring to. 

Beside him, Eve smiled.  On with the show.

***

**London****, 1880**

William raised his head and smiled at the dark shadow by his window.  Lifting his hand, he beckoned at the figure weakly. 

Hot, his entire body was burning; his bones ached with every move he made.  His mother said he had the chill, and that he had stayed out in the London night for too long.  William wanted to smile.  It seemed like a lifetime ago when Cecily rejected him, said he was beneath her, and now, all he could remember was the pain.  He wanted this pain to end. 

He knew his mother was lying when she said he would get better.  She was crying, sniffing into a handkerchief when she last came into his room, patting him to sleep as if he were still a young child.  He was dying, and he knew it.  He knew that she knew it too, so did the professors at the university who came to visit him. 

"Thanks for coming, 'Gelus," William closed his eyes and pulled the covers higher up.  In his fevered mind, he could not register why Angelus had not come with the others who came earlier in the afternoon.  Or the reason his friend had climbed into his room through the window like a thief instead of ringing the bell and waiting for the maid to let him in.  In his fevered mind, William merely continued to smile tiredly at his friend and thanked him for his concern. 

"You are dying," Angelus remarked bluntly, pressing the back of his hand against William's sweaty forehead and closed his eyes, as if savoring the heat radiating from the weak human boy. 

William nodded, burying himself deeper into the covers. 

"It's sad, really, for someone to simply die like this, not leaving a mark on this world.  I would have thought you better than this, William." 

The English boy felt something rising in him.  Cecily's words began to ring in his head.  No, he was not beneath her.  He was beneath no one.  Suddenly, the urgent need to prove himself worthy in Angelus' eyes became overwhelming to him.  That need roused his sick and frail body into action.  Slowly, he pushed the covers aside and propped himself up on his shoulders. 

Angelus smirked. 

"I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice in this, 'Gelus."  William defended, feeling the shadowed world spin around him. 

"What if I do?"  The Irishman sat down on the bed and placed a hand on the boy's thigh, leaning cool breath against William's heated skin.  "What if I can make you better?"

"You are kind, my friend.  But you are no doctor."

"No, I'm not," Angelus admitted. "I'm something far better than that.  I'm God. Look, do you trust me?" 

Filled with curiosity and the desire to believe in something, or someone, greater and more powerful than himself, William nodded.  Angelus' smile grew wider, more predatory, as the man leant in close and whispered against his throat, nipping at the soft skin there. 

"Angelus—what are you—?"  William felt his face flush in embarrassment.  What was his friend doing?  He always knew Angelus to be strange in his Irish ways.  However, this was beyond friendship.  This was blasphemy!  ****

"Shh…there's no God here," Angelus said, as if reading his mind.  "There's only us."  His hand began to trail down William's thin nightshirt, and pressed against the warm skin hidden by the cloth.  His mouth slowly and patiently made its way up to William's perfectly sculpted ear, nibbling slightly at the smooth lobe. William closed his eyes and leant in closer. 

"You…you are the devil…"  William gasped as Angelus slid his free hand inside his pajamas bottoms, cupping his balls as if testing their weight.  The illicitness of their act seemed to arouse him further and finally, with a soft cry, he came. 

Angelus wiped his hand on the covers with a grin, as if he had won a battle.  Perhaps he had.  One would never know.

"Yes, I'm the devil.  But I'm also the one who can make you better, not that non-existent God that you worship."  Dazed, William could only watch as his friend made his way towards the windows where he came from, and disappeared into the night, as mysteriously as he had come, leaving him with only an inner heat that refused to go away, and a distinct message. 

_If you think you can trust this devil, come and find me._

***

_"Where am I?"_ was the first thought in his mind when he woke up.  Cradling his head painfully with one hand, Spike gradually forced his eyes open and looked around him.  The vampire frowned and took a quick look at his watch. 

What was the last thing he remembered?  He vaguely remembered sitting on the roof and swallowing something white.  That was…Spike checked his watch again.  That was a day ago.  So how the hell did he manage to find himself in the sewers with no memories of the past twenty-four hours to boot?

With some difficulty, he pushed himself up from the ground, letting his vampire senses guide him back home. 

If only that bare white apartment Doyle gave him could be considered home. 

Spike fumbled with the many pockets of his duster, looking for his keys.  It was a feat that he had even managed to find them.  Especially considering his current disorientated state, which was only aggravated by his killer migraine and an aftertaste in his mouth of something strangely familiar, but something he could not put his finger on.

He staggered into the apartment and slammed the door behind him, making a beeline for the couch in the living room.  Spike shoved the magazines, the empty Jack Daniels bottles, and his Playstation console off of it and collapsed onto the cushions face down. 

The last thought he had before he drifted away into unconsciousness once more was that the strange aftertaste in his mouth was blood. 

Human blood. 

***

"Er…boss?" 

Angel looked up towards the doorway where his secretary had just entered.  "Yes?"  He asked with mock civility.  The last thing he needed to deal with now was another blonde vampire with the intelligence of a six year old. 

"I just heard the news about what Spike did.  You know…with all the gossip mongers and office talk going around?"  She raised an eyebrow and glanced nervously at the older vampire, looking out for any sign of irritation.  "And I thought…ifyouwouldwanttohavehisaddress?" 

"What?!" 

Harmony gulped and backed against the door.  "Well, pretend I didn't say anything…" 

"Harmony!"  Angel closed his eyes briefly, and clenched his fists together, praying for calm.  "What did you say just now?" 

"Well, Spike's new address.  He gave it to him after that…you know, Cup of Eternal Torment fiasco?"  She shrugged noncommittally.  "Just thought you might want it." 

"Yes." 

Harmony frowned.  "Huh?" 

"Yes, Harmony, I would like that very much."  Damn…what exactly was holding her ears apart if she didn't have a brain between them?

The girl whooped in delight at being able to do something useful and handed a piece of scented stationery to her boss. Angel looked at it and slid in into his shirt pocket. 

"And Boss?" 

He sighed, wanting more than anything for her to leave so that he could get ready to drive to Spike's new apartment, assuming that place had underground parking.  "What now, Harmony?"

"You are not going to stake him, are you?" 

Angel froze.  That was one question he was afraid to answer himself. 

+++

**End of Chapter Four**

**Continue to Chapter Five**


	5. Chapter Five

**Victimized | Chapter Five**

**A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/ Angel the Series Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William**

**Warning: Slash.  Blood play.**

**Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season 5: Damage.**

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Joss Whedon, WB, and their associates. **

---

The door was not locked when Angel arrived. It was as if the owner of the apartment had deliberately left it that way, daring him.  Angel frowned.  The apartment was silent.

Allowing himself this small weakness, Angel prayed that his childe would not be in, that he could delay, as much as possible, the inevitable death of the last remaining memory from his past.  Poetic justice, wasn't it? Like what Spike had said before, this was the circle of death. 

The vampire took a deep breath and stepped, uninvited, over the threshold. 

The drive over had given Angel time to think. Did the loss of his memories also cause Spike to lose his soul?  This was what had been haunting Angel since he saw the cryptic message the other vampire had left for him.  The thing was, with Spike, it was always hard to tell.  Those azure eyes always betrayed more emotions than a demon should have.  It was as if William Bradford had never lost his soul at all.  Angel could remember clearly the times his unsouled self had given William the beating of his unlife, wanting to beat the humanity out of him and create a perfect vicious demon.  He succeeded. 

However, though his dead heart soared with paternal pride the night he found William home with the blood of London's East End on him, another part of him mourned the loss of the God-fearing poet who had shed tears for every life lost, regardless of how small or insignificant it might seemed to be. 

***

**London****, 1879**

A loud shrill scream interrupted the musicians in their playing almost instantly.  The guests looked at one another in shock and rushed into the one of the many rooms in the mansion when their hostess screamed again. 

A dead body, one of the kitchen helps was found laid out on the hostess' bed, hands folded neatly across her abdomen as if an undertaker had already attended to her and readied her for a funeral. 

At the back of the room, behind the crowd that had gathered, Angelus watched in morbid amusement how some of the fine ladies had fainted at the sight.  The men were not much better, as they struggled to keep their dinner in, making the sign of the cross repeatedly. 

Only one man, the vampire noticed, had stepped forward, and knelt down on the floor beside the bed, taking one of the cold dead hands in his warm ones.  The mortal was afraid, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his heart beating rapidly as he reached out and nudged her head a little, gasping at the two neat puncture holes across her jugular. 

"Oh my God," the blonde man whispered, and then he looked up, across the room, straight into the dark brown eyes of the Scourge of Europe.  At that moment, William thought he was looking at an angel who had come to take this girl's soul away to heaven. 

He rubbed his eyes a little, and then blinked.  The man was gone. 

***

**Sunnydale, 1998**

"You look like prey."

Spike looked up to smile through long white-blonde bangs.  Ducking his head shyly to the side—one human trait he had for some reason unable to get red of whenever Angelus was around—he whispered, "Can't have the Slayer interrupting my chat with Gramps, can I?" 

Angel could not help but return that smile.  Dressed primly in his cream, well-pressed shirt and tailored pinstriped pants, neatly trimmed and unpolished nails, wire-framed glasses perched on the bridge of that ivory nose, Spike became William again.  The master vampire made ruthless by years of tough, unguided survival was now tucked behind the façade of the sweet poet who had made even Angelus want to learn to love. 

"Will, take Dru and leave.  You are—" Spike jerked back in shock. 

"What?"  Angel asked, frowning in confusion. 

"You never called me 'Will'.  William, Willie, boy, Spike, or even Spikey, but not Will.  Never Will. 

So why did it feel so familiar and yet painful at the same time?

Cerulean eyes met chocolate brown ones.  A sudden longing welled up in Spike, an urge to fall into those strong arms like a fairytale princess, wishing that he had never left that embrace. 

Left?!  I was never there in the first place!

Angel looked away ruefully.  The moment had passed.  Spike closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.  When he spoke again, his voice sounded more like a choked sob than anything else. 

"You're right," he ripped his glasses off his nose and threw them onto the floor angrily, "things changed."  Spike ran his fingers through his hair, spiking it up slightly, and crushed that fragile piece of wire and glass under his boots almost casually.  "You are not my Sire, just a bloody wall between me and my hat trick of Slayers.

"Nor am I your childe," the blonde vampire stared squarely into the other vampire's eyes. 

"I'm just another enemy to be fooled."

***

Angel found Spike further in the apartment, lying facedown on the couch in front of the television.  Almost empty bottles of Jack Daniels lay at his feet, spilling the foul liquid onto the cold tiled floor.  He shook his head disapprovingly, with just a little concern and kicked the bottles away, careful not to get the end of his pants dirty. 

Spike did not look so frightening now.  If not for the corpse that was now on its way to the mortuary, Angel would never have thought things changed.  However they had. Sometimes, it was just beyond anybody's control, immortals included. 

The dark vampire froze when his youngest childe sighed a little in his sleep and turned over, a contented smile on his face.  Fingering the stake in his pocket, Angel finally took a deep breath and held out the pointed piece of wood, holding it above the bare chest, where the dead heart was.  His hands shook. 

He had to do this.  Spike had lost his memories, and together with it, his soul.  He was a champion, and being that did not leave him the choice of choosing a murderer over the rest of the world. 

Whispering a 'sorry' under his breath, Angel lifted his hand and plunged the stake down in one swift movement, sending them both into a spiraling darkness.

Back in his office at Wolfram and Hart, Wesley swore under his breath.  Beside him, Fred looked up, shock and concern on her beautiful face. 

"Why do I think that's not too good?" 

The Englishman gave her a grim smile but said nothing.  There wasn't anything they could do now to help Angel.  Wesley only hoped the vampire had the strength of mind to survive this himself, and bring both of them back safe and sound. 

***

"So what you are trying to say is that there's a curse cast on those fluffy pills?"  Lorne asked, a look of utter confusion on his face.  Wesley nodded. 

"Those are very powerful hallucinogens.  Mixed with the spell, it is even able to affect those that come into close contact with the victim." 

"Wait," Gunn held up his hand, calling a halt.  "What exactly does this all powerful spell do?" 

"That's exactly the problem," Fred replied helplessly.  "We don't know." 

---

**+End of Chapter Five+**

**+Continue to Chapter Six+**


	6. Chapter Six

**Victimized | Chapter Six**

**A BtVS/ AtS Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angelus/William**

**Warning: Slash.  Blood play.  (And sex!!  A NC-17 chapter, finally!!)**

**Spoilers: All the way up to Angel Season 5: Damage.**

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Joss Whedon, WB, and their associates. **

**A/N: Linkin Park's "In the End" is SO A/S that I wrote this chapter just listening to it on loop. **

---

Angel opened his eyes to find himself in the night of a typical English countryside.  The smell of crisp grass assaulted as he crushed them under his feet.  Frowning slightly in confusion, he took a good look around.  This place seemed somewhat familiar to him, but tried as he may, he could not place it anywhere in his more than two centuries of memories. 

"Sir…" he turned around, surprised to see a young blond boy, barely eight, standing behind him with fearful tears in his eyes.  The boy gripped tightly on the bunch of yellow daffodils in his hands.  "I'm lost… can you… do you know the way back home?" 

"No, he doesn't."  A voice spoke up from the side of the road.  Sitting on a huge rock there was Spike, drawing another mouthful of nicotine, looking as out of place in his leather duster and red shirt as Angel was.  The boy did not seem to have heard him though, only continued to walk forward towards Angel, and passed through him like a spirit. 

"What's the meaning of this, Spike?"  The younger vampire smirked, hopping to his feet and crushing his half-smoked cigarette under his boots. 

"Don't you recognize him anymore, Sire?"  Spike asked casually, gesturing in the direction where the boy had gone.  It was then, that Angel noticed whom the boy had been originally speaking to. It was not Angel the boy was asking help from, but Angelus. 

Angel wanted to go forward and stop the boy, yet he was held back by the other vampire.

"It's no use."  The younger vampire explained.  "This is a memory.  You can't do anything." 

"A memory?  Whose?"  Spike closed his eyes and smiled, placing a hand over the left side of his chest. 

"His," he answered simply.  Under the dim moonlight, Angel could only watch in horror as his doppelganger picked the boy up easily and sank his fangs into the lithe neck.  To his surprise, Angelus did not drain the boy completely.  He removed his fangs after a quick sip and gently let the boy fall to the ground, small head resting on his lap. 

Then he remembered.  This was his first meeting with William.  Not in the streets of late Victorian London when the young man bumped into him, not in the grand ballroom of that mansion where he had hunted in, but before that, when William was just a boy. 

"You are still young," Angelus said.  "But I'll be back for you one day.  I'll be back for you."  The demon traced his finger lightly over the two puncture holes on William's neck.  "Remember, you are mine." 

"Don't really feel like it," Spike said suddenly with a rueful smile on his face. 

"What's the meaning of this, Spike?"  Angel asked again.  Around them, the scene seemed to freeze.  The grass stopped moving in mid-breeze, the crickets stopped their song.  Behind Spike, another young man stepped out into the light. 

"Will…"  Angel gasped.  The sable haired young man ran his fingers through his unruly hair. 

"I always thought Dru was my sire." 

It was strange to see two identical faces staring back at him.  Will grinned, allowing his demon to put one arm possessively across his shoulders. 

"Spike's here to show me the truth." 

Around them, the scene began to shift, to the hall of that long forgotten mansion in both their memories where William became "Dru's shining knight." 

"NO!"  Angel yelled, standing between William and the scene he knew was sure to be taking place behind him. 

"Forget it all."  They both heard Drusilla's mesmerizing whisper this time.  Angrily, William pushed Angel away, and watched in horror at how Angelus simply stood at the corner of the room, watching silently without protest as Drusilla raped the mind of his youngest childe, erasing all traces of the bond between sire and childe, between lover and lover… between them. 

Angel gripped tightly onto William's shoulders, blocking his view once more.  This time, William did not push him away, but only stared into his eyes with hurt and pain.  This betrayal, this treason against their shared blood…

"…Hate you…"  Slowly, but steadily, this beautiful visage crumbled under his hands.  Angel felt, rather than saw, his Will turned into dust, leaving behind only a faint tinkle of shimmer in the air. _"I hate you…"_

***

_I'm sorry, William…I never mean to…_

**London****, 1880**

With much difficulty, William weakly made his way to the mansion he knew Angelus was staying at.  His heart beat wildly in his chest.  He was dying, the doctors said as much.  But he did not want to die. 

"I don't want to die…"

The mansion stood with an imposing air in the London night.  William never really noticed it until now, how the thick curtains were drawn neatly during the day, blocking out as much sunlight as they could.  The front porch itself was designed in such a way that there was sufficient shade for one to step out of the door without meeting the sun.  Tiredly but without hesitation, William let himself in.  The door was not locked.  It never was. 

He would have tumbled headfirst onto the cold floor if not for the pair of strong arms that caught him.  The Englishman looked up, holding out a hand to trace lightly over Angelus' lips.  This was the devil, he was convinced of that, but he did not care. 

Mentally, he apologized to his mother, to his grandmother, to all the other people in his short life who had tried teaching him to be a God-fearing Christian.  Between Heaven and this dark angel who now held him in his arms, he chose…

"I choose you…" 

Angelus smiled, and carried William up to his bedroom with much ease.  The young man barely weighed anything, after almost a week of being tortured by his fever.  Then, almost reverently, Angelus laid him tenderly onto the soft cool covers.  William reached out for him almost desperately, moaning slightly at the feel of the cool skin against his overheated one.  

"I choose you."  He repeated, with more conviction this time.  He caught the hand stroking his hair and brought it to rest on his cheeks.  In this near moment of death, William now saw more clearly than he had in his entire life.  He had always known what his friend was, even when he was busy denying it.  He kissed the hand fervently.  "How many died tonight under your hands?  And how many more will die?" 

"Just you," Angelus answered, sliding his hand to the back of the young man's head and brought their lips to meet.  Urgently, they deprived each other of clothing, wanting nothing to stand between skin and skin.  William groaned and whimpered at the sheer ecstasy of this man's touch. 

_This was wrong. _

_I know that. _

_But…__  I…  I never wanted to be right. _

He felt foreign hands wander where he himself had never touched before.  He felt lips raining kisses over his face, his torso, and his legs.  Such terrible pleasure!  William quivered as long fingers tickled the back of his knees, before Angelus placed another kiss on the sensitized skin.  Letting out another moan of pleasure, he asked for more. 

"More?"  Angelus teased, hands trailing over the small of his back, ghosting lower, and tracing the cleft of his bottoms. 

"More," William replied. 

Fingers, slick with the oil William never saw Angelus retrieve, pushed into him.  Such violation!  William screamed, the young male in him mixing pain with pleasure into a potent combination of wanton sensation.  Not knowing what he was doing, William spread his legs wider, lifting them to place them on Angelus' wide shoulders. 

"More!"  He cried once more, until Angelus silenced him with one quick thrust. 

William thought he never felt more used than he was then, as if he was merely a vessel waiting to be filled.  White lights exploded behind his eyes, its brilliance rendering his vocabulary to merely grunts and random phrases of "please," "more," and "harder." 

"Beautiful… so beautiful," Angelus muttered between kisses, cool breath against his lips.  William writhed with uncontrolled passion under Angelus' skillful touch.  They embraced, like long lost lovers, caught up in a rhythm of lust. 

Then, William came.  So consumed he was in his pleasure that he did not notice a sudden shift in Angelus' features, nor the sharp prick of pain when Angelus drank from him, draining him almost to the point of death. 

"I love you… sire…" 

_Mine…always…_

***

"Angel!  Angel, wake up!"  The dark vampire groaned at the pain in his head, and waved off the hand slapping lightly at his face.  "Thank God…" 

"Wesley?"  Pain forgotten, Angel sat up on what he recognized as his bed.  He was back in his bed in his penthouse.  What did this mean?  His heart almost beat for a second, when he thought about the possibility of the past few hours being simply a dream. 

"Spike!"  He cried.  Had William really found out the truth about his siring?  Or was it just a very bad nightmare?  "Where's Spike?"  _Where's William…_

_…hate you…_

_No, tell me you don't! _

_…hate you…love you…sire…_

Wesley shifted his gaze nervously.  Angel took a deep breath and tightened his hold on his best friend's arm. 

"What happened?"  Angel asked, afraid to know what the answer might be. 

The rattle of chains was loud in the empty room of nothing but white.  The black leather-clad vampire stood out like a sore thumb.  Spike growled, pulling at the chains and glaring at the two men standing at the door, a safe distance away from him. 

"I'm sorry, Angel.  He had been like this since we found him.  We had to tranquilize him and bring him back."  Wesley explained.  There was no need to explain why he did not just stake the other vampire when he was down.  Angel would not want that. 

Angel held out his hand to his childe.  It hurt, to see his boy restrained like a wild animal.  Seeing Spike now reminded him of the way he was like when he just returned from hell, disorientated, confused, and afraid. 

Seeing the hand reaching out for him, Spike growled again, and then only slumped down, all the fight drained from him. 

"He's gone."  Spike looked up, the demon calling out to his sire for help in the midst of this whirlpool.  Angel ignored Wesley's cry of warning and embraced his childe, closing his eyes when he felt the tears soaking his clothed shoulder. 

"He's gone," the younger vampire repeated.  "William.  He's gone." 

+++

**End of Chapter Six**

**Continue to Chapter Seven**


End file.
